The Middle of the Night
by SparklingSibuna
Summary: It's a fact of life that the ones nearest to our hearts are sometimes worlds away from us. And so when we are given the opportunity to reconnect with them, whether minutes or hours, nothing else matters. Not our troubles, not our fears, not the time of day. All that matters is sharing a few blissful moments with those few people that have forever left imprints on our hearts.


**I've had this written for a while, but have been neglecting to post it, mostly due to my own laziness. This story really touched me, especially when I reread what I had written after the season finale, because of the two main subjects that it focuses on: Close friends and forgetting. That may sound a bit odd, but you'll see what I mean. I hope you enjoy!**

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"When you don't talk, there's a lot of stuff that ends up not getting said."- Catherine Gilbert Murdock, _Dairy Queen_

I was awoken from my deep slumber by the unintelligible lyrics of Amber's ringtone bursting through my phone. Even in my bleary, disoriented state, I knew that it was hers, because her taste in music had been one thing that had never changed.

Glancing over at my bedside clock, I seethed silently. The screen read 1:06 in the morning. What could Amber possibly want? Groping for my mobile amongst my vast collection of various knick-knacks, I finally managed to locate and silence the device. Lifting it to my ear, I grumbled,

"Amber, what do you want?" As I rubbed my eyes, she responded sarcastically.

"Well, it's nice talking to you too, Patricia!" I realized then that she had no idea what time it was here.

"Amber, you do know it's, like, one o' clock in the morning over here, don't you?" There was a lengthy pause on the other end as a light bulb went off in the blonde's head.

"Oh, so that's what Sandra meant by 'time difference'!" she exclaimed. "It's only eight, here in New York."

"Who's Sandra?" The question had left my mouth before I was even aware that it had formed.

"Oh, she's my roommate," explained my old friend. "She's smart, and she has these brilliant design ideas, but she's _so_ happy, _all_ the time. She's practically the American version of Willow!" I chuckled softly at the exasperation in Amber's voice.

"Sounds like a nightmare," I joked, now fully awake. I sat up and leaned against my pillows, pulling my blankets up around me.

"Oh, just a little bit," Amber giggled. "But she's a great friend."

I hadn't expected to feel the twinge of jealousy that accompanied her words. Words, spoken by Amber nonetheless, had never been enough to spark such emotions within me before. But, I supposed with reluctance, perhaps distance could do that to a person. Or maybe the distance wasn't what bothered me, being as seemingly unsentimental as I was. Perhaps it was the inexplicable fear that I would be forgotten. Discarded as a useless trinket, a reminder of a past life. And that was what tugged at my strings of insecurity. Whoever I was, whoever I hoped to become, I had my mind set on blazing a trail in people's hearts, creating a fiery memory that would forever hang in the back of their minds. My greatest fear, if I was to be blatantly honest, was being forgotten.

A very pregnant silence hung in between us as unwanted thoughts swarmed my mind. As I diligently tried to convince myself that Amber's absence had not affected me whatsoever, the sheer kilometers from her location to mine seemed to become much more tangible.

"Speaking of Willow," I said finally, clearing my throat, "She's moved into the house. Something about it having 'good vibes', whatever that means." As she laughed at my mockery, some of the lingering tension seemed to fade.

"Well, some things never change," she replied, and I could practically see her smiling. But as lighthearted as the conversation seemed, I couldn't deny the minuscule spark of sadness that had begun to root itself in my chest. Everything _had_ changed.

The blonde "fashionista" that I had grown up with, who had giggled about boys and fantasized about becoming a princess for as long as I could remember, had suddenly jetted off to live out her dreams in the very real world of New York City, stolen from our everyday lives with naught but a hug. The sleuthy American girl that I had grown fond of, whom I would always consider to be one of my very best friends, had found herself trapped in the middle of love, sickness, and destiny, and would never be returning. And if I was being totally and completely honest, I even missed Mick, with his ridiculous eating habits and terrible grades and football obsession. If I was being totally and completely honest, there was a part of me that desired to live in a world where all of us could be together. Where life wouldn't get in the way and goodbyes would only be temporary. Where I needn't fear that I may be lost to the memory of someone that I used to know, and replaced with someone better. But my life didn't allow room for such wishful dreaming as that. My world, my mysterious, dramatic, one-of-a-kind world that I wouldn't trade for anything, spun at a much faster pace than those fantastical thoughts.

"Yeah," I agreed. Against my better judgment, I added, "But some things do."

The second the words had slipped from my mouth, I wanted to reclaim them. I hated the wistful, nostalgic sound that they produced. I hated how desperate they made me sound.

"Some things do," she repeated softly, and it didn't take much to envision the flood of memories that she was almost certainly indulging in. Every laugh, smile, and tear that I could remember seemed to flood me then, and I nearly choked on the memories. But I restrained from losing myself in the bittersweet deluge, because that was not acceptable. Not for the social status of someone like me.

"Patricia, you don't have to hide it, you know," Amber whispered a few moments later, breaking me out of my reverie. Immediately, my voice had adopted its all-to-familiar defensiveness.

"What do you mean?" I asked, somewhat harshly. "Hide what?"

"The fact that you miss me." There it was. The cocky, teasing attitude that shot down my defenses as soon as I had thrown them up. The attitude that could bring out the inner friend in me.

"Yeah, right," I replied scornfully, but my voice swelled uncharacteristically with admiration. "As if I could ever miss someone who doodles pictures of David Beckham when she _thinks_ no one's looking." I laughed heartily as I flashed momentarily back to the day, years ago, when I had discovered Amber's secret diary, forgotten inside her desk after an incredibly boring history lesson. Gleefully, I had slipped it into my bag, with the intention of sharing the juicy secrets of my friend with Jerome and Alfie during one of our midnight pranking sessions. Who would've known that the high-maintenance blonde had secretly been crushing on our resident geek, all those years ago? Or that Mara had once earned a D in English? A slim smile adorned my lips as I soaked up the sunlit memories of days long gone. Jerome and I might as well have been enemies now, for all of the time we spent together. I hadn't helped the two pranksters rig the bathrooms or start food fights in ages. But I supposed that growing up, especially in the midst of life-threatening mysteries and social turmoil, didn't really allow for such childish antics. Put simply, devoid of a silver lining, it sucked. There was nothing enjoyable about losing people you loved and giving up things that made you happy just because the world didn't have time for you anymore.

"How do you know about-" she broke off, as the pieces fell into place. "Oh my gosh, it was you! You were the one that stole my diary back in Year Five!" Her voice rose with accusation, but it was highlighted with humor.

"Guilty as charged," I replied, feigning smugness. Then, for reasons neither of us could explain, we fell into a fit of unisonous laughter, deeply buried memories coming back to us one by one. As I laughed, happiness spread inexplicably through me, a feeling I hadn't known for quite some time. It wasn't as though I had never been happy- nothing could be further from the truth. Rom-com marathons with Joy made me happy. Cheesy dates and pointless banter with Eddie made me happy. Simultaneously mocking Victor at the breakfast table on Saturday mornings made me happy. But all of that was lost to the blissfully uncomplicated past, when life had worked itself out and our existence hadn't been threatened repeatedly by ancient spirits and evil identity-thieves and cursed Egyptologists that wanted to take over the world. When we hadn't been separated from the best of friends and scared into ending relationships that we had hoped would last a lifetime. When goodbyes were a way of saying, "I'll see you next year", rather than a silent plea that we would be remembered.

"It was nice talking to you, Amber," I wheezed, brushing a tear out of my eye while trying not to acknowledge it.

"You too, Patricia," she replied, and I could practically hear the smile in her voice. And for one blissful moment, the stress and pain and confusion of growing up, as well as the constant fear lurking in the back of my mind that I wouldn't be remembered, didn't seem to matter one bit.

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**Did that bring a smile to your face? I sure do hope so, although flames are welcomed. Before I go, I would like to mention that the quote used was from a book called Dairy Queen, written by Catherine Murdock Gilbert. It's a fantastic story, which I highly recommend. It's very candid and reflective, while still incorporating bits of humor and romance. Go and read it!**

**Reviews are appreciated, and I hope you have a lovely day!**

**Sibuna**


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